


Something Great

by mrsronweasley



Series: When Nick Met Single Dad Harry [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: AU, Kidfic, M/M, Schmoop, single dad Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley/pseuds/mrsronweasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and his kid move in next door to Nick. Hijinx ensue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of [this little thing](http://ziusik.tumblr.com/post/67425910749/au-where-single-dad-harry-moves-in-next-door-to-nick) on tumblr! This is, let's say, Part 1.5, with more definitely coming.
> 
> Huge thanks to all the encouragements from such wondrous ladies as fiddleyoumust, ImmaCapsicle, Mistresscurvy, tress30, brooklinegirl and, oh god, if I am forgetting you, I'm a dick! BASICALLY ALL THE PEOPLE WHO WERE VERY NICE ABOUT THIS, BASICALLY. Also, big thanks to sunsetmog for encouragements AND her Brit-pick! All the hearts!
> 
> (Any remaining mistakes are my own.)

Nick proceeds to do stupid things just to catch a glimpse of Harry all the week following. 

Whilst walking Puppy, he crouches down in front of Harry's door to "lace up his shoes" (he's wearing boots). He pretends to take an important call right outside his own door, just to linger a bit and see, but of course, the laws of his life being what they are, he doesn't run into Harry again until three days after, when he's unshaven and grumpy at the corner shop, picking up an avocado for tea because he's got nothing else and he can't make up his mind about which takeaway he fancies. Somehow, in his feeble brain, the avocado will solve everything. Oh, and digestives. He's nearly out.

"Oh, hiiii," he hears behind him and nearly knocks over a stand of bananas as he turns around. 

Harry looks better than Nick remembered, which is made all the worse by the fact that Nick looks like death warmed over. Harry's got nothing on but a thin white t-shirt and skinny black jeans, and Nick is fairly certain his checked shirt is buttoned wrong and his jeans haven't seen the inside of the washing machine in about two weeks. 

"Hi!" Nick says, then looks at Harry’s basket. Bananas, milk, wholemeal bread. God, he's such an adult. Nick's avocado is nestled next to a bottle of white wine he'd grabbed on a whim. "Hello. Just – picking up some…stuff." Oh God.

Harry's smiling at him. "Yeah, I somehow managed to run out of milk for Eddie's cereal, and thought I'd pick up some other stuff while I was at it. How have you been?"

"Great," Nick says, "busy. You know." Trying to stalk you in all my free time, no big deal.

"Oh yeah, you hosted that, uh, that thing last night, right?" Is Harry blushing? Nick straightens up a bit, looking around himself. He's stood next to the aisle with all the crisps and he's suddenly incredibly glad that he hadn't yet grabbed a packet before Harry found him. 

"Yeah, yeah, the video awards," he nods, then wonders if Harry had watched. His currently deflated hair might not be so bad if Harry had seen him dressed to the nines on his telly. 

"Cool, yeah."

This is bloody stupid, and Nick is wondering where his famed ability to talk to a brick wall has suddenly fucked off to, when an annoyed-looking posh woman pushes her way past them. They _are_ sort of right in the middle of the aisle, but the dirty look she sends Nick almost feels personal.

"We should get out of the way," Harry suggests and hoists his basket up. "I'll see you outside?" 

Nick doesn't even get a chance to say anything before Harry's long legs have carried him over to the check-out counter. Nick deflates, looks at his avocado and wine, then grabs the nearest packet of crisps and chucks them in, as well. New digestives! Right.

Outside the shop, Harry's actually waited for him. It's late evening, and Nick wonders where Eddie might be, and with whom. More importantly, he wonders how is it his life that this man who's suddenly appeared before him and looks so bloody gorgeous in the setting sun, has only seen Nick _now_ , when he's looking anything but. Whilst paying for his sad purchases Nick had actually discovered something crusted onto his shirt. Not his finest hour. 

"So, I wanted to ask," Harry starts, already walking in the direction of home. Nick falls into immediate step alongside him. "You're probably busy, with, like, a million plans, but –"

Nick only just manages to stop himself from screaming _I'm not busy, I'll cancel all my plans, all my friends can go to hell, love meeee_ , and instead attempts to look politely interested when Harry shoots him a look. 

"But if you wanted, Eddie and I would love to have you over for tea tomorrow night?" Harry's playing with his hair, and all Nick can focus on is how many tattoos cover his bicep and wrist. "I mean, it doesn't have to be tomorrow night or anything, but –"

"I'd love to," Nick interjects, then feels himself blush. "I mean, I've got nothing lined up, so –"

"Oh, good," Harry grins, just like that, and Nick can't help but grin back. "I should warn you, living with a four year old means eating quite early, but –"

"When should I come over?" So much for playing it cool, Grimshaw.

"Five o'clock all right?" 

Nick doesn't actually care. He's meant to be going shopping with Pixie and Alexa but sod it, he's got a beautiful man to seduce. "Sounds great," he says, before adding, "I'll wear a clean shirt this time," and wanting to die right there on the spot. Oh Christ, his big mouth, constantly getting him into trouble.

But Harry just laughs, in a way that's so friendly and open, Nick can't help relaxing.  
"We're not too fussed," Harry says. “Life with a four year old and all that.” 

Nick just ducks his head and smiles.

*

Harry's flat is quite different to Nick's. First of all, it's like a shrine to chaos, whereas Nick likes his home life to be orderly, apart from Puppy and her never-ending quest to eat most of his belongings. He has to gingerly step over a toy trolley and a doll with an alarming lack of right arm to follow a smiling Harry through into the kitchen.

The flat's bigger, too. Nick had wondered if it was possible to live in a one bedroom with a kid, and feels a misplaced sort of relief that Harry does, in fact, appear to have his own bedroom. Not that Nick has thought of Harry in his own bedroom at all, or pictured him in his bed, or Nick's bed, naked, for that matter.

In any case, Harry's kitchen is the same size as Nick's, which is to say, the estate agent's version of "cosy." Nick has actually measured the length of his kitchen in _Nick_ s. His is one and a half Nicks, and he's fairly certain so is Harry's. 

With Eddie bursting through the doorway the next moment, it shrinks even more. 

"Puppy?" he asks, and Nick lets out a laugh. 

"She's home, love," he tells him, sharing a quick look with Harry.

"Oh." Eddie deflates quite visibly, which Nick had anticipated. Thanks to his broody friends, he's spent quite a bit of time around small people with large expectations. 

"But I've brought you something, want to see?" Nick attempts a Dumbledorish sort of twinkle, hoping to catch Eddie's interest. After all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a way to a single-father-who-may-be-interested-in-you's heart is through his adorable four year old, and Nick is not above buying Eddie's love. Once he sees Eddie's interest pique, he rummages in his pocket and produces the tiny pink hippo he spotted in a shop earlier and chucked alongside his other purchases without second thought.

"Oh," Eddie says in a polite and entirely disinterested voice, and accepts it. "Thank you, Nick. It's very pink."

Nick bursts out laughing a second time. Okay, so the hippo is no replacement for Puppy, but Eddie has to be the most polite four year old Nick has ever met. Of course, now he's eyeing Nick skeptically, and Nick breaks off his laughter and shoots a quick look at Harry before crouching down in front of Eddie. "When is your bed time, Eddie?"  
"Half six I get into my pyjamas," Eddie informs him immediately, the stupid pink hippo clutched to his chest. 

"Well, I'll tell you what," Nick says, checking his watch. "At six o'clock on the dot, if your dad lets us, we will go next door and you can help me walk Puppy."

Eddie's eyes light up. "Really? Daddy? Daddy, can we?"

Harry's been watching them both with a silent grin, and for a long moment, all Nick can focus on is the way Harry's threadbare t-shirt stretches across his chest, hints of ink peeking through. Nick has to lick his lips and force himself to turn his attention back to Eddie. 

"Sure," Harry says, "as long as you promise to be on your very best behaviour."

"Of course!" Eddie turns his huge green eyes on Nick and Nick can almost feel a part of his heart leave his chest, floating straight towards the kid in front of him. "Where will we go? Will Daddy come? Will Puppy let me lead her?"

"We'll go to the park, just down the road,” Nick tells him. “She loves to run around without her lead, but you can help me lead her to and from the park, how is that?"

"Good! Daddy, are you coming?" He looks like he's ready to bolt out the door at this very moment, and the only thing tethering him to the ground is his father's permission. Nick doesn't have the heart to tell him it's not for another hour.

"Of course, if Nick doesn't mind?" Harry tilts his head in question.

Having two pairs of green eyes trained on him is probably some sort of test of Nick’s will power. He clears his throat and begins to awkwardly get up off his haunches. "'Course," he says, and then wonders if Harry would really have trusted him to just take his kid to the park having barely known him a week.

For a moment, he thinks how strange it is that Eddie and Harry have accepted him into their lives just through the power of being neighbourly. Nick didn't even know of their existence a week ago, and suddenly here he is, coming over for tea and acquiring company for his nightly Puppy walk.

"So can we go _now_?" Eddie asks, but by the looks of it, kid already knows his answer.

"Tea first," Harry tells him, and Eddie appears to accept this. 

Nick wants to help, but he already feels awkward enough, stood in their kitchen like a berk. Harry busies himself almost immediately with flicking on the kettle and pulling out what look to be makings of bacon sarnies. He pauses for a second and turns to Nick, his lips forming a surprised sort of 'oh' that Nick, God help him, has a quick urge to stuff full of his cock. Oh God, Eddie is right there. "Oh, are you veggie?" Harry asks him, and it takes Nick an embarrassing moment to even parse the question.

"Oh, no, no - love meat. Love bacon," Nick says, then forces himself to shut up, and oh God, he's botching everything up and there isn't anything he can do about it.

"Good," Harry grins, looking gorgeous and miraculously oblivious to Nick's awkwardness. "This is our treat night, right, Eddie? Bacon sarnies all around, not a vegetable in sight."

Eddie, tiny pink hippo still clutched in his tiny hand, gives a hearty "yeaaaaaaaaah!" and then takes off into the hallway, hollering no vegetables! right before there's a thud and a moment of heart-stopping silence in which Nick and Harry exchange a look. Then, "I'm okay!" comes from somewhere around the front door, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

"This is a daily occurrence,” he tells Nick. “I really should learn to stop worrying. He's only managed to give himself a black eye once."

Nick would probably have had a heart attack, but he's been around enough parents to know the universal "is there blood, if not, then leave me alone" instinct kicks in sooner or later. "Just the once, then?" he asks and steps aside when Harry reaches to chuck a bad piece of bread into the bin.

"Yeah, at the airport, of all places. We had just gone through security, and I was, like, pulling my boots back on, I think. He was right there, and then he - wasn't." Nick watches as Harry quickly slices up the cheese, then turns the grill on, bending down enough that his arse sort of hoves into Nick's general area. Nick really has to get a grip on himself. 

"Yeah?" he says, just to move things along and away from his terrible thoughts.

"Yeah, so I look up and he's just legging it towards a display of some sort, I think it was brollies with London drawn on them or something? Or, wait, maybe cafetieres. No, it was, it was the brollies, and - anyway, sorry - before I can even say a word, boom, crash - blood _everywhere_."

Nick winces, then scoots out of the way again as another piece of bread goes flying into the bin. "Tears, too, probably," he offers.

"Oh yes, loud ones, crocodile tears," Harry says, then throws him a quick blinding grin over his shoulder. "Eddie might have cried, too."

Nick bursts out laughing. It only occurs to him to wonder where Eddie's mum is at that moment. Weird. You'd think he'd have wondered before right now.

"Yeah, so - bloody nose, two spectacular black eyes blooming. And, apparently, people get highly suspicious if you're a bloke traveling with a kid who looks like - well." Harry waves a butter knife for a second as if to illustrate all beat up and shit.

Nick winces. "Oh, no." 

"Oh, yeah." Harry shakes his head and bungs the bacon into the grill. "Yorkshire tea okay, by the way?"

"Sure, sure," Nick tells him and decides, once and for all, to just sit his arse down at the table. The kitchen is small, but cosy. The fridge's got all sorts of papers stuck to it - timetables, what looks like an exhaustive list of phone numbers, childish drawings, and right in Nick's eye-line, a picture of Harry and Eddie. By the looks of it, Eddie's just about three years old, and sat on Harry's lap. Harry's pointing and laughing at the camera, chin propped up on Eddie’s head, an identical dimpled grin reflected on Eddie's chubby face. Nick wonders who took the picture. They both look so happy.

When he looks away, Harry's watching him, and when he sees Nick watching him back, a small smile tugs at his lips. "My sister took that one, it was my birthday. Eddie loves it. He's so weird."

Nick can't help smiling back, tugging nervously at his quiff. A thought occurs to him. "What do you do, by the way? For, like. Life. Job. Money." Oh God, stop talking.

"Oh, right - I, uh." Harry ducks his head and plays with his own hair. He manages to leave traces of butter in his curls. Nick bites the inside of his cheek. "I'm a songwriter?"

Whoa. "What - really? What kind of - like, pop songs?" Is Nick living out a fantasy whilst actually trapped in some sort of hologram or whatever? Because this bloke can't be his perfect man, it would be absurd. Should he pinch himself?

Harry screws up his face and laughs in an adorably awkward kind of way. "Yeah."

"Oh my God!" Nick makes a high-pitched noise that’s nearly a squeal. "What have you written? Have I heard of you? Who have you written for? Come on, you have to tell me everything!" 

"Oh, God, well, you know Katy B's latest single?" Harry asks.

Nick gapes at him. "Butterfly Memories?"

Harry's playing with his lower lip as he nods. 

Nick blinks. "You're - you're Harry bloody Styles?"

Harry shrugs in response. 

"Holy shit, are you serious? You're amazing, I'm _obsessed_ with your stuff." Nick doesn't even care that he's being a complete idiot, he can't help but gush. Harry's written songs for every major popstar out there. Not just songs - bloody _hits_.

Harry's blushing furiously now, but he's got a pleased smile on his face. Nick is about to do something completely stupid like propose to him when Eddie tears into the kitchen, pink hippo, Nick is happy to note, still clutched in one hand, holding a plastic sword aloft in another.

"Is it time for tea yet? Fred and I got bored, and we want to see Puppy," Eddie explains, sword still high in the air.

"Fred? I don't think I know a Fred," Harry says seriously. "Can you introduce us?"

"I named him Fred," Eddie explains and holds up the tiny pink hippo. Nick thinks oh. _This_ is what his heart leaving his chest really feels like. 

"Oh, excellent choice," Harry says, then turns around and frowns. "I think the sandwiches need just a few more minutes, but if you wouldn't mind helping set the table, that will speed up time."

"Zoom!" Eddie slides towards what Nick is assuming is the cutlery drawer at a pace that seems ill-advised for the tight quarters. Apparently, though, four year olds are as lucky as they are reckless. Eddie _doesn't_ end up taking a drawer handle to the face, but it's still too close for Nick's liking. 

"Can I help?" he asks, making a move to get up, when Harry shakes his head and nods at Eddie. 

"You're the guest, so you sit, and we set," he explains. Christ, how does one bloke have such patience for a child? Nick loves kids, longs for kids of his own, if he's perfectly honest, but it's exhausting. Harry doesn't appear to be exhausted, though, just amused, maybe, and exceptionally fond. Maybe he’s a robot. A really sexy daddy sort of a robot – precisely the sort of robot Nick would create for himself, in fact, if he was scientifically inclined.

In the end, it takes both Styles boys to set the table, and Nick saves dinner by catching the HP sauce after Eddie accidentally elbows it off the table. 

"Whoaaa, you're fast!" Eddie declares and Nick takes a little pleased bow. That _had_ been impressive. 

Nick's barely had time to take his last sip of tea when Eddie declares it to be "six o'clock, on the dot!" It isn't, it's barely gone five forty-five, but Harry just shrugs and says, "All right, it must be Puppy time, then."

They leave the washing up for after.

*

Puppy practically jumps into Nick's arms when he opens the door, and Eddie can barely contain himself at the sight of her. Between the kid and the dog, it takes Nick twice as long to attach her lead to her collar, but he manages it in the end.

It's a warm summer night, the sort you that you cherish in London because there always somehow too few. Nick holds onto Puppy's lead but allows Eddie to pretend like he's in charge, holding onto it in front of him. Puppy stops to sniff every bit of vileness on the street, of course, Eddie hot on her heels at all times, but all Nick is truly aware of is Harry, walking in step beside him.

"Daddy, did you tell Nick that he was funny this morning?" Eddie suddenly asks, turning around.

Nick can't help cracking up, then looking at Harry, who's watching his son with a mixture of annoyance and fondness. "Haven't had a chance, no.”

"Daddy says you've saved the show for him," Eddie goes on, undeterred, whilst Nick's stomach does a little flippity-flip. He's got a white-knuckled hold on Puppy's lead. "He says, he says that you're funnier and nicer than the guy before you. He says he used to listen when he was little, but then stopped for a while, but he's been listening to you for months now. We like Showbot." Eddie giggles, then adds, “she says silly things. She calls you Grimy.” Then, he stops chattering as suddenly as he'd started, turning his attention back to Puppy, who's currently weeing on the pavement. 

Nick thinks he might have fluttered away if not for Puppy’s lead in his hand. When he looks over at Harry, Harry gives a slightly awkward laugh. "Well, he's just made me sound quite cool," he remarks. Nick wants to kiss him something desperate.

Instead, he bites his lip and shrugs, all nonchalant cool on the surface. "It's nice to hear that, though. I mean, you know, listening figures being what they are and all." He'd meant for that to come out self-deprecating, not self-pitying, but the look Harry gives him sort of tells that hadn't worked.

"That's such crap, though," he says. "Moyles's ego got so big by the end there, he was clearly done. I dunno, I just love it. Your show, I mean."

Nick's been stunned into silence, something that he actually doesn't experience all that much, but he can't really do anything but follow Puppy and Eddie and give Harry a smile as he does so. 

"You can bring her 'round, you know," Harry says once they're in the park and Nick's let Puppy run free. "Eddie would love it."

Nick's heart jumps in his chest. _Can I move in?_ he wants to ask. _Will you marry me?_

What he asks instead is, "Are you sure? She's a menace indoors. Do you have any expensive footwear? Because that's her favourite snack."

Harry just laughs and points his chin to where Eddie is throwing a stick for Puppy to fetch. "I've got him, he's probably worse. I mean, you've seen the state of our flat." 

"Well, if you _want_ all of your belongings to smell like overenthusiastic dog," Nick concedes, and chances a look at Harry. So far, they've both been sort of pretending to be watching the child and dog play in front of them. 

Harry is still watching it, in fact, so Nick takes a moment to appreciate, once again, how pretty he looks in the evening light. Stupid thought, but he can't help it. Maybe in an alternate universe, he's met his husband. Another stupid thought that can't be helped. 

He doesn't look away in time and Harry catches him at it, and flushes, but doesn't look away, either. Nick's always been so bad at these things. He can't flirt, he's only ever managed to have sex with people through the power of friendship, courage of alcohol and, sometimes, his relative fame, and so he looks away as quickly as he can, because Harry watching him like _that_ is more unsettling than anything else. 

He twists Puppy’s lead in his hands and doesn’t look at Harry again.

Both Eddie and Puppy actually whine when told it's time to head back. Nick sort of gets it, to be honest. It's been a nice night.

 

He doesn't get a choice in which door to go through once they get back – Harry simply escorts him, Eddie, _and_ Puppy into his flat, and Nick hovers in the corridor awkwardly whilst Puppy tugs on the lead, panting. 

"C'mon, Puppy," Eddie orders and Puppy honest to God trots in place and stares up at Nick. 

"Oh, Jesus, hold your horses, I'm gonna – there," Nick unclicks her lead and both she and Eddie are off.

"Start putting your toys away, or no bedtime story!" Harry yells after him, and it isn't until that moment, in the darkened hallway, that Nick can tell just how truly exhausted Harry is. All of him seems to sag against the wall like a deflated balloon, but when he looks at Nick, he smiles.

"I think my son's in love with your dog," he says.

"I think the feeling's mutual," Nick counters and runs his fingers through his hair for a millionth time. He's feeling awkward again, like Puppy had been his shield, and he's got nothing but himself to rely on here. He can hear Puppy's scuttling nails on the floors somewhere beyond the hallway and Eddie's constant stream of chatter over it. It's going to be so quiet when he takes her home, he thinks.

"Can I offer you anything else?" Harry asks, making no move to go through to the living room. "I think I've got two beers in the fridge somewhere, but I could get us something else, if you wanted?"

Nick's heart pounds a bit. He'd only expected to come for tea, then have the walk to the park, at most. He hadn't expected an _after_ , an after that would come after Eddie's bedtime with a promise of alcohol.

"I, actually, I've got a bottle of Pinot at my place, I could bring that round?" he offers, and Harry agrees, which brings Nick to sticking his head inside his fridge and pulling a stupid face at the Cokes lined up all neatly in a row. Is he grinning? He's definitely grinning, because his face is starting to hurt. He shakes it off, pulls out the Pinot, and slams the fridge shut.

Then he plays with his hair for a bit in the mirror, then he makes a face at his own reflection because, urgh, had he worn the wrong shirt for this?

Then he does a quick sniff test, gives himself a thumbs up in the mirror, feels stupid, and finally leaves for Harry's.

He's met with chaos and tears coming from the general direction of the bathroom.

"Sorry, don't mind us, just a bit of vom," Harry tells him when Nick carefully walks through the open doorway. Harry's covered in sick and water whilst Eddie's miserably throwing up whatever else may be left in his tiny body into the toilet. Puppy's sat at attention next to him, not even noticing Nick for once, her tail thwacking sort of sadly against the floor. 

Nick feels his own face fall. "God, is he all right?"

Harry shrugs, looking a bit harassed and _still_ beautiful, even with sick all over him. What the fuck. "Happens sometimes, doesn't it, pet?" 

He's rubbing soothing circles over Eddie's back, and Nick can't help but notice the long-legged sprawl of him, tight jeans ripped at one knee, bare feet and all. 

"He'll be all right, he just got too excited and ran himself into a frenzy." Harry says all this in a low, soothing voice, and Nick realises that it isn't _Nick_ he's reassuring, it's Eddie. Nick feels a bit helpless and stupid, stood in their bathroom, bottle of Pinot clutched in one hand. "You should stick that in the fridge for now, we're gonna need it," Harry says, indicated said bottle. "Go on, I'll just run him a bath and all that and be out soon."

Nick takes that as his cue and takes the time to do the washing up from the tea. It's weird, doing the washing in a place where he doesn’t know where anything goes, but he manages to at least make it look less insane and leave the dishes clean at the end of it. Then he bravely opens all the cupboards until he's found the wine glasses, then promptly closes them because he doesn't want to jinx it. 

Harry's probably going to be too tired after the vomming incident, anyway.

Nick sits down at the kitchen table and studies the fridge.

The first number on the list is someone named Gemma with a heart next to her name. Then he sees a Dr Trent, Mum & Robin, Dad, Lou & Tom, Lou & Liam, George (H.), George (F.), then his eyes run over to the timetable. By the time Harry walks through the door, Puppy hot on his heels, Nick knows more about Harry's day to day schedule than he does his own.

"You washed up?" Harry asks and sinks down onto the chair. "God, you didn't have to, but wow. Thanks, man." 

Nick just shrugs, feeling stupid. He probably should have left – it's not late, God, it's not even seven, but if _he_ feels this tired, he can't imagine how Harry feels. 

"Wine?" he says despite his better judgment, and Harry nods rather enthusiastically. 

"Yes, _please_." 

Nick makes a move towards the cupboard with the wine glasses when he does an awkward step back, because is he meant to know where they are? He’d snooped. That's weird, right? 

"Top cupboard on the right," Harry tells him, and Nick just nods, like, right, that's why I was confused, not because I've been playing stalker in your kitchen. 

Once the glasses are filled, Harry leads him out into the living room, where they settle on the opposite ends of Harry's sofa. It's still light out, but the windows are facing east, and the garden's in shade. It's identical to Nick's in size, and Puppy immediately runs up to the doors like she does at home. Just like at home, Nick tells her she's just had her walk and to wait a bit because she's only just weed, honestly. 

"God, she's so needy," he complains.

"She is cute, though," Harry notes, looking at her over his shoulder.

"That's why I don't drown her in the bath," Nick tells him, taking a sip of wine.

"Same with Eddie, to be honest," Harry says once he turns around, and Nick nearly spits the wine back out. Harry just grins at him beatifically. 

"Top class parenting right there," Nick laughs, and Harry shrugs in response.

"I do my best." It sounds sarcastic, but even having just met him, Nick can tell it's true, too. 

He still doesn't ask, because it's none of his business, but he's dying to know the story of why Harry's single. It's sort of killing him, the mystery of it all. 

Harry looks ready to drop off right there on the sofa, though, and Nick gathers up every bit of will power he's got to set down his glass and say, "You're exhausted. I should go, I think, let you have your kip." 

Harry's face goes through a series of complicated emotions, from surprise to sadness to a sort of scrunch that says _no, but yes, but no, but probably, yes_. "I'm sorry," he finally says, setting down his own glass. "I really meant for this to go – I dunno. I miss having adult conversation sometimes." He says it with a laugh, and Nick can't help smiling at him, even though he's sort of selfishly disappointed Harry didn't fight it more.

"Cor, and you expected that from _me_?" he says and takes way more pleasure than he should from Harry's sort of stupid-sounding laugh. It's delightful, really. 

"I am sorry, though," Harry tells him, turning serious. "Tonight was really nice. You should bring Puppy round again, I mean. Eddie would love that." 

So would Puppy. So would Nick.

"I will," he says with what he knows is a stupid-looking grin, but he can't help his own face, unfortunately.

He gets up. Puppy trots up to him immediately, playing the part of obedient, loyal pet all of a sudden. He scoots her up, because trying to get her out the door on her own four paws would be a production bigger than he's willing to go through at the moment. 

Harry walks him to the door. It feels like midnight, but it's so early, Nick will have to figure out a way to entertain himself for hours still. Boring. Maybe he'll go round to Sadie's, Puppy'd love that.

"Have a good night," he says once he's at the door, and leans in to give Harry a quick peck on the lips before pulling back. 

Then he freezes.

Harry's eyes are wide, but Nick would bet his are wider. What. The fuck. Has he just done. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to just lean in and _kiss_ Harry, but where it came from, he's got _no fucking idea._

"Uh," he starts, flushing all the way down his face and neck and chest, but then Harry's leaning into his space and Nick has just enough brain power to release Puppy from his arms before they’re filled with Harry, and they're snogging their brains out. 

"Oh, fuck," Harry breathes and Nick makes a really embarrassing whining noise before diving back in. Harry's mouth is everything. Harry's _body_ is everything, so fucking warm and hard, all shifting muscle swaying against Nick's own. _Oh, fuck_ is right. Nick's head thumps against the wall when Harry pushes him up against it, but fuck the pain. 

Harry's tongue is velvet against him, and fuck, he's a brilliant kisser. Last time Nick snogged someone, it was sort of horrible – too wet and way, way too much tongue – but Harry bloody knows what he's doing. Nick's just vaguely hoping he's living up to it, but it's hard to concentrate on technique when he's too busy popping a serious boner inside his jeans. Harry shifts and lines up their hips and ohhhh, fucking hell, there it is. The answer to a prayer Nick hasn't even had a chance to send up yet. Harry's cock is hard and feels huge like this, and wasn't Harry exhausted, like, a moment ago? God, he tastes so good, and he seems so _into_ it. Nick moans and pulls him closer, still.

Then something brushes against his feet and okay, what – oh, Christ, Puppy, right. 

"Hnnngh," he manages, breaking off their kiss. Harry's watching him with blown eyes, and his mouth is so pink and so wet and oh God, his _hands_ in _Nick’s hair_. "I should – I should – go," Nick says, and what? What is wrong with him? Why is he saying this? 

"Ugh," is Harry's response, and the next moment, he buries his face in the crook of Nick's neck, which sends a long, hot shiver down Nick's entire body. _Fuck_. "Yes, I – probably not with Eddie here, it's just –"

Oh God, Eddie. Oh God, everything. Nick is nodding before he's made the decision to, and then Harry catches him in another kiss – slow, this time, and lingering. Nick's eyes slide shut and he kisses him back, just a light touch, like a tease, but he feels it in his bones. 

Harry's arms are wrapped around Nick's neck when he breaks off and looks at him, lower lip caught in his teeth. "I've stolen your wine."

Nick watches him back, clears his throat. "I can. I can come back for it. Some other night?" His heart's so loud, he wonders if Harry can hear it. 

"Please," Harry smiles and gives him another kiss, quick and light. "I'd like that."

Nick ducks his head and grins. Yeah. Okay, then. He'd like that, too.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With many thanks to sunsetmog for her Brit-pick and lovely encouragements & to mistresscurvy and brooklinegirl for reading and cheerleading, ILU ALL <3
> 
> I know it's been a while, and I know this isn't long, but I promise not to keep you waiting for too long. I've never posted fic in bursts before. This is weird. Hello. Have more words.

_@HarryStyles_music is now following @grimmers  
@HarryStylestagram started following @nicholasgrimshaw_

"Earth to Nicholas bloody Grimshaw." Fincham's dulcet tones finally manage to reach Nick's ears, and Nick trips over his wheely chair in an attempt to be on time for his link.

"Right, and that was – what was that, Matt Fincham? Soz, wasn't paying all that much attention," Nick says, finally having recovered. Fiona gives her signature sigh. He can't actually see her all that well from the corner of his eye, but he's one hundred thousand percent certain she's also just rolled her eyes at him. 

"That," Fincham says, tapping his pen against the desk, "was Beyoncé with her newest single, and you need to put your phone away like a good boy. The nation's listening." 

Well, some small percentage of it, anyway, but Finchy's got a point.

"Sorry, sorry, nation, sorry, Matt Fincham. Sorry, Beyoncé! Bit distracted today, and I've no idea why? Do you?"

"Actually, for once, I've got no clue. Enlighten us?" Nick loves it when Matt just plays along. "Didn't see you on the front pages of anything, so that's a strange one."

"I dunno, went to bed quite early, me! Walked my dog, had some bacon sarnies with my next door neighbour, was in bed by bloody eight o'clock watching the Simpsons."

"That definitely sounds like you." Disdain drips from Matt's lips. "Are the Simpsons even on at eight pm?"

"I've got Sky+, obviously, the greatest invention since toilet paper," Nick informs him. His phone vibrates in his hand, but he is superhuman and ignores it. "Regardless, have we discussed the new Miley Cyrus video yet? Or are we not allowed to because it's a leak and not the proper official release?"

"Well, seeing as how you've now gone and mentioned it, I suppose we can discuss it," Matt allows.

"Text us at 80099 to let us know what you think, Great Britain," Nick enunciates even as he's bringing the link up on his monitor. “I definitely have thoughts.”

It isn't until he's gratefully turned control over to Tina that Nick manages to look at his phone. 

He feels a certain sense of disappointment when he sees it's just Aimee. 

_Who's the next door neighbor, then_ reads the text, and Nick manages the most nonchalant response of, _Harry Styles nbd_ before queuing up his mic to talk over Tina, as nature intended.

_The songwriter, r u serious_

_oh_ , Nick types out, _have you met?_

It is the greatest tragedy of Aimee's life, Nick knows, that they have yet to make a sticking two fingers up emoji. He can still sense it from across town, though. Aimee doesn't text him again.

He does, however, hover over the profile of one @HarryStyles_music for a full thirty seconds after wrapping the show before hitting _follow_ and immediately shoving his phone in his pocket.

Then he attempts to pay some sort of attention for the next two endless meetings. It's a long afternoon for him.

*

The thing is, Nick can't stop thinking about that kiss. He couldn't tell anyone what Simpsons episodes he watched, for one, because Harry's mouth. Wet and red and soft and his _tongue_ , and Nick just keeps on tripping over his own feet as he thinks about it.

He had the quickest wank of his adult life after that kiss.

Then he had another, slower one, shamefully soundtracked by Marge Simpson's monotone rasp, but he couldn't stop picturing what it would be like to get Harry naked.

Then, afterwards, he sort of curled up in a ball thinking about the fact that Harry's a daddy of a four-year old and even though he appeared to be quite into Nick, Nick wasn't so certain he was ready to date a single father.

Was he?

Oh God. What if they fucked and Harry decided it wasn't worth it.

What if Harry was single because he was actually terrible in bed.

What if he was a horrible person.

What if Nick just brained himself on the wall and had it be done with?

What if Puppy scampered up the bed and began licking his come-covered hand oh God, _oh God._

Yeah, he went to sleep quite quickly after that.

Now, the sun is shining and he's dragging his feet down his own road, in the hope of possibly running into Harry, or Harry and Eddie again. It doesn't happen, but at least Puppy is as ecstatic to see him as she always is, being part-goldfish and forgetting that he comes home every day and lets her out for a walk.

This walk, like all walks, is the absolute greatest walk to ever happen to her.

Nick sinks down onto the grass in Regent's Park and looks down at his phone again. No notifications, not even a text from Aimee. He swipes it open – maybe it just hasn't updated yet.

Just as Puppy bowls him over for the stick yet again, Twitter pops up a new DM. Nick should probably be paying attention to Puppy and where he's chucked her stick, but he's got a DM from Harry sitting _right there_ in his phone and he can't be bothered.

_Realised I didn't have your number, but was wondering if you're maybe free on Friday? Got a babysitter_

Nick blinks down at his phone as his face completely loses any control over itself and he grins like a lunatic.

Should he reply now or play it cool, like he couldn't be bothered to look at his phone for hours and hours?

 _You work fast,_ he types, instead. _Friday sounds lovely. Mine? 7?_

He's incredibly glad he didn't wait, because Harry's response is nearly instant.

_Perfect :) xx_

Nick groans and falls onto his back, eyes sliding shut. Oh God. He's got a date with the hottest human being on the planet apart from Beyoncé. On Friday. Oh God. 

He needs a hair mask and a facial. Stat.

*

Friday takes a very long time to arrive. In the meantime, Nick fails to run into Harry exactly ten times (he's counted each instance in which he could have), posts (twenty thousand) Puppy pictures to Twitter and Instagram, gets about half that amount of likes from Harry, and three @-replies to boot, one of which says, _Eddie said this was his favourite – really captures her spirit_ in response to the one where Puppy's burrowed under the living room rug with just her bum and wagging tail on display. 

_grimmers: @HarryStyles_music she does present herself in a certain light, doesn't she :)_

_msaimeephillips: @grimmers @Harry Styles_music much like her human_

Nick nearly drops his phone with a shriek.

"Where did you bloody come from?" he yells down the phone once Aimee picks up, cackling. "That was a private bloody conversation. You cannot ruin my game before my next date, I will murder you."

"Ohhhh, a date? Already?"

"Yes, if you must know, you witch."

"Calm down, Grimmy, I saw an opportunity, I couldn't pass it up. Anyway, you never told me any details, so I figured I'd snoop. He's fucking hot, well done."

Nick sinks deeper into the sofa and opens up his laptop. Sometimes he wonders if he isn't just a tad over-dependent on technology.

"Please don't pretend like you didn't know this," he responds as acidly as he can manage. 

"I'm just congratulating you, take a compliment, asshole."

He loves Aimee. Nick squints on web Twitter and clicks the "1 new notification" pop-up.

_HarryStyles_music: @msaimeephillips @grimmers oh hello :) disappointed that I haven't yet seen this side of grimmy_

Aimee must see it at the same time, because she laughs and the next moment, Nick hears distinct typing. 

"Don’t – Aimes – seriously, I will kill you –"

"Shh, I'm working." 

Resigned, his stomach sort of butterflying all over the place, Nick refreshes Twitter again. 

_msaimeephillips: @HarryStyles_music @grimmers as his longtime friend companion, I can almost guarantee that you will and probably sooner than you think_

"I'm hanging up on you," Nick tells her in a flat voice.

"You just try," she intones back.

_grimmers: @msaimeephillips @HarryStyles_music *unfollows both of you immediately*_

_HarryStyles_music: @grimmers @msaimeephillips nooooo I'm innocent! What will Eddie do without constant puppy updates?_

Nick giggles – he can't help himself – and then they're off.

That's Wednesday.

Thursday, he drags Aimee to the spa to get their dead skin cells sloughed off and get generally pampered by professionals, at which point he does, actually, fill her in on all the details, up to and including the exact girth of Harry's hard-on as ascertained by Nick's hip.

"Sexy," Aimee concludes. Nick can’t see her from beneath the cucumber slices, but he can tell she’s grinning, so he grins right back.

Friday’s show is essentially a wash. By the time Nixtape rolls around, he’s had three (hundred) coffees, got kicked in the arse (literally) by Fincham twice, messed with Tina three (thousand) times, and has actually been put in time out by B. Traits, the guest DJ, after attempting to sabotage the Beastie Boys, which he thought was quite appropriate, thank you.

_HarryStyles_music: .@grimmers sounding good this morning. Nearly the weekend!._

_grimmers: @HarryStyles_music: *posts all the emojis everrrrrrr*_

Nick’s glued to his phone so much, he gets actual texts into the show asking him if he’s ill/gone mental/catatonic. He’s nearly forgotten the cameras are on.

He’s meant to be having a meeting with the production team after the show, but Finchy takes one look at him and nearly boots him out the BBC, telling him he’ll get an email about it.

Pixie’s already waiting with provisional ice creams by the time he gets to the park with Puppy and they spend the rest of the afternoon sugar rushed all to hell, playing with the dogs and being papped by bored photographers who must be having a slow celebrity day. 

His pocket buzzes at 3:16 and he can feel the smile drop right off his face as he looks down at it. It feels like the sun’s gone right behind the clouds. 

They’ve already exchanged phone numbers, so he gets a text.

_I’m totally gutted but I’ve gotta cancel - Eddie’s ill. Came home with a fever today :( I’m so so sorry, I’ll make it up to you.. xxx_

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Pixie’s voice comes suddenly, and then Nick feels the weight of her chin dig into his shoulder. “Oh nooooo.”

“Ugh.”

“Gutted,” Pix says, laying her cheek against her shoulder. “But look how sweet he is - he clearly feels bad. He’s not just blowing you off.” 

No. There’s no blowing at all going on _now_.

Nick chews his lip and thoughts start to swirl in his head. Bad thoughts, terrible thoughts. Thoughts like, what is he even thinking, trying to date a single father? Nick’s always needed to be someone’s entire focus. Clearly, that’s not happening here. What if every date they make ends up like this, with Nick slumped on the ground, being propped up by Pixie, and Harry probably bent over a vomming Eddie, soothing his back with that big warm hand of his?

“Grimmy, get the fuck out of your own head.” 

“Ughhhhhh, I’ll be forever alone,” he moans, still not letting go of his phone. “Will you be my executor? I will everything to you.”

Pix actually starts to shake against him with laughter and pulls at him until he’s fully beached on top of her, face on belly. She ruffles his hair. “Shut up, you fucking wanker, it’s one date! He’s cancelled _one date_!”

“Our _first_ date, _and_ he agreed with me last time that I should go, too!” 

“You accidentally kissed him! He wasn’t prepared! He was into it, though!”

They’re shrieking loudly enough now that the paps have started to sort of crawl forward like predators but Nick’s really used to it by now.

“What if this happens again?” he says, rolling off Pixie and letting Puppy accost him, instead. 

“It probably will,” Pix says, sobering a bit, propped up on her elbows. “Look, he’s got a kid, all right? That’s a big thing. But he definitely _likes_ you, so get the fuck over yourself.”

“You’re a real pal,” Nick grumbles. Puppy’s settled quite comfortably over his crotch, getting her ears scratched like it was just any other day. "Nobody can feel my pain."

And now his whole night is wide open, too. Another pathetic lonely night of watching the Simpsons in his pants and pretending like he’s mad at Puppy for taking up residence on the pillow next to his head.

“Sigh,” he says and earns himself a punch on the shoulder from Pix.

“Just make yourself useful, you tosser. I bet he won’t even be able to get his own dinner sorted - get a take-away and deliver it to his house.”

“That’s _pathetic_ ,” Nick says at the same time as possibilities of various cuisines begin flitting through his mind. “I should be able to take a hint, aren’t I? Keep my distance?”

“It’s possibly pathetic if you stick around. If you just get him food and bugger off, it’s thoughtful and neighbourly.” She really sounds like she knows what she’s talking about, which is weird, because it’s Pixie. She’s generally just a mental person. 

Nick scrunches up his face and pats Puppy’s butt. “Is that real or are you just trying to get me to die alone and inherit all my art?”

“Fuck right off.” She laughs and punches him on the shoulder again. Nick grins and scoops up Busta away from her. She lunges.

It turns out to be a really lovely afternoon, actually.

*

He goes with Indian. You can’t really go wrong with a good strong curry. He gets extra popadoms, too, and nearly buys a four-pack of beer before stopping himself, and spends a good three minutes on Harry’s front step doing a step-repeat of sorts. 

_IT’S NOT NEEDY IT’S HELPFUL_ from Pix is still on his phone lock screen, so he takes courage from that and rings the bell.

It takes Harry a while to open the door, and when he does, his face (which Nick hasn’t seen in days, outside the grainy Twitter pic) goes from confused to slightly worried back to confused.

“Nick?”

Nick’s stomach drops down to his toes. Oh no. Oh, this was a huge mistake. He can tell that Harry hadn’t lied about Eddie, because Harry’s white t-shirt is, in fact, covered in sick that Nick can only assume belongs to an ill four-year old, but the expression on his face is. Not great.

“I’m sorry,” Nick manages to stammer out. “I shouldn’t have, but I just thought - you’re probably -”

“You got my text, right?” Harry interrupts, leaning on the halfway closed door. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail on _top of his head_ , which is completely ridiculous as a concept, but manages to be rather compelling on him. 

A realisation begins to dawn on Nick.

“I - I did,” he says slowly. “I’m sorry. I never replied, did I?” If his hands weren’t filled with Indian take-away, he’d be slapping his own forehead with them.

“No,” Harry says just as slowly, watching him like Nick’s the last man on Earth and Harry’s _still_ unsure if he would. “I thought you were… upset.”

“Oh God,” Nick groans. “I’m so sorry - I was disappointed, and with a friend at the time, and I -” Was really, _really_ stupid. Never in his life has Nick felt more like Bridget Jones. “I am _so_ sorry. I wanted to bring you dinner in case you were, you know. Up to your ears in - kid sick - and...”

Harry’s face transforms in front of Nick’s eyes. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle and his cheeks dimple. It's devastating. 

And then he licks his already pink lips into an obscene colour and it goes straight to Nick’s, well, everything. “You brought me dinner even though I cancelled our date?” 

“Ugh, pathetic. I know.” Nick’s already made enough of a fool of himself that he might as well finish the job. He attempts to at least look like an attractive fool and runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you kidding me?” Harry says, and God, his voice, too. His everything. Nick mutely hands over the bag. “Nick. That’s so kind. Thank you _so much_. I really hadn’t even thought of it yet.” 

Harry’s staring into Nick’s eyes and Nick thinks he’s melting straight into the ground. Fucking hell. _Say something. Say something._

_SAY SOMETHING._

“No worries,” he finally manages. “Hope you like curry. I figured, you know. Who doesn’t? National dish and all that. Anyway, I’ll just - go. Shouldn’t keep you. I hope Eddie’s better soon!” He’s sort of leaning his entire body sideways, possibly to indicate that he’s going to run back into his own flat and then set the whole thing on fire, or possibly just that he’s a completely ridiculous human being who ought never leave the house in the first place. He wasn't feeling this flustered when he met the literal Queen of England, for fuck's sake.

Either way, he mostly just wants to run straight home and bury his head under all of his pillows at once.

“Oh - I do, I love curry,” Harry says, still smiling his crooked charming smile. Nick can’t look away from him. It’s a really, really serious problem now. “I’m so sorry, again, for cancelling. I was…” He takes a step closer to Nick, letting the door hit his bum. Nick only notices because a small part of him is jealous of a door. The rest of him, however, is vibrating on the spot, because Harry’s suddenly really close. Like. Right there. Nick swallows. “...Really looking forward to it,” Harry finishes, and he - really, very obviously, drops his gaze to Nick’s mouth. Nick feels stripped bare by it, it’s just so _obvious_ and _hot_ and the mild London night has suddenly turned into Ibiza right here in Primrose Hill because he’s sweating and he cannot breathe. 

“Yeah - yeah, me too,” he manages. His voice sounds like his sex voice. God.

Then Harry leans in the rest of the way and kisses him. Soft and firm and heady as fuck. Nick’s eyes slide closed of their own accord. The kiss isn’t deep or anything, but it’s fucking amazing, anyway. Nick has to grab into Harry’s waist just to keep standing. He's so _warm_. Then he remembers Harry’s covered in sick. Then he realises how deeply he does not care. Harry’s only touch is a gentle hand on Nick’s hip. Soft as it is, Nick feels like it’ll leave a brand.

Once it’s over, Harry takes a small step back. Nick can feel the cool air again. Harry bites his lip and Nick licks his own. They’re just stood there, staring at each other like a pair of idiots right there on their street. Nick feels like a balloon.

“So, maybe we can try again tomorrow night?” Harry asks. His voice sounds like sex, too.

“Are you - are you sure?” Does Nick dare hope? His freshly spa-treated skin tingles with anticipation already. “Won’t Eddie -”

“My sister said she’d come over tomorrow and help out,” Harry interrupts. “She’s letting me have the night off.”

“Oh.” Nick can feel his mouth spreading into a stupid grin. “Well, all right, then. Sounds great.”

“You sure you’ve got no better plans or anything?” Harry asks, tilting his head, and is that cheek? Is he giving Nick cheek?

“No plans, but I resent the tone,” Nick retorts. “I’m not _always_ out, you know.”

Harry nods, pretending to believe him. “Sure. And that BRITs show was just my imagination.”

Nick can feels himself blushing. Ugh. “God, you heard that.”

“Of course I heard that,” Harry laughs. “Legendary. Pulling a still drunk Lily Allen into the studio with you, it was amazing.”

Nick wouldn’t exactly call it that, since the only thing scarier than a sober Lily Allen is a still-drunk-off-her-arse-and-thus-entirely-unfiltered Lily Allen, especially at six bloody thirty in the morning, but all right. It’s just another Lily Allen-related mistake he’s got to live with for the rest of his life.

“That’s not what Finchy thought.” And, anyway, it was the BRITs. It’s actually a requirement that Nick get absolutely twatted after the BRITs.

“Finchy was wrong,” Harry nods, and then there’s a weak sort of _Daddy?_ coming from somewhere inside the house. Harry’s expression instantly changes to adult with responsibilities. “Shit. I’ve gotta go, I’m sorry.”

“Of course, of course.” Nick does a little “go do your thing” hand wave, which should hopefully make up for his expression probably being one of the “never leave me again please please ever also when can we get married and have more babies and please let me suck your dick?” variety. 

“Tomorrow night, though?” Harry asks, halfway back into the house already. God. The _grin._ He needs to stop grinning at Nick like that. It’s bad for everyone’s health. 

“Tomorrow night,” Nick confirms. 

“Let’s go somewhere. I’d like to take you out,” Harry says. Nick’s belly does a swoop of _wants to take me out!_ and _there are no comfortable places to get naked and fuck in restaurants!_.

He does manage to say, “Sounds lovely,” in response. 

Harry bites his lip on a smile as he shuts the door behind him and Nick lets out a very long and conflicted breath.

“Okay,” he tells the closed door. “Okay.”

Then he half-skips down the steps and into his own flat. He texts Pixie before turning the telly on.

_He had a topknot on his head. Very Funky Offish. You'd have gone mad for it._

_Went well?_ she responds almost immediately.

Nick smiles as he types. _Went well :)_.

*


End file.
